


the warmth of a ghost would be better than the cold bathroom floor

by Anonymous



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Eiji is back home in Japan, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Suicidal Ideation, aborted suicide attempt, brief mention of homophobic slurs, in which Eiji's mother is homophobic and emotionally abusive to her son, postcanon, ventfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eiji's mother had always made painfully clear during his days on the high school track and field team that her approval of him, and in turn her love, was conditional. And if he violated the rules of this unwritten contract, the conditional love he had been afforded would be yanked from him mercilessly if he dared to disappoint her or his ailing father.Now, at 20 years old, with a still healing bullet wound in his abdomen, and an even greater, unspeakable wound in his heart, Eiji feels like if he lets even a single drop of the disgusting truth leak out of him, he might fall apart.





	the warmth of a ghost would be better than the cold bathroom floor

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, as this is a ventfic and was written purely for the purpose of catharsis.

Eiji laughs, and it's a cold, desperate rattle leaving his throat, as he grips the razor shakily in his hand. Soon his family won’t have to deal with his disgraceful existence, the fact that he’s a fag, a disappointment of a son, weak and hung up on someone he can’t even tell them exists. He can’t say anything. He feels like the world inside him is imploding. He wants to end it. Wants to end the charade because he feels himself choked and smothered in cotton from inside and out.

He holds it shakily, fingers shaking and presses it into his wrist, on the fleshy part of his arm. Tears flow from his eyes and his body shakes but he can’t will himself to press down. His mind commands him, commands him with just one flick of a wrist to end it, to put himself out of the pain of existence. Out of this disgusting charade of his life but he _can’t._ He fucking can’t. He fucking can’t.

He imagines Ash’s face, smiling sadly, putting his arms around him and plucking the razor from his grip.

He collapses onto the bathroom floor, letting it clatter from his grasp. He pulls his knees around himself and cries, head nestled uncomfortably against the bottom of the sink.

Disgusting. Disgusting. There’s cockroaches on the floor that live here. They’re going to crawl into his hair but he only has the strength to lie on the floor, all the energy drained from his limbs. He cries until he feels numb, everything drained out of him, his limbs heavy and buzzing. His neck hurts. This position hurts. He rises, still shaking, holding onto the sides of the sink for support. He can see the imprints of the bathroom tiles embedded in his arm. He traces the pattern with his finger. It looks kind of cool.

With steadier fingers, he placed the razor back into the cabinet where he had gotten it, avoiding meeting the expression of his own tear stained red eyes in the mirror, yet he catches a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye. Hair askew, eyes and cheeks red.

He almost feels sorry for himself. He wonders what Ash would do if he saw him like this. Wrap him into his arms and hold him close, a blanket around them both on the couch.

But Ash isn’t here.

But at least his family isn’t home yet. He goes to sit on the couch alone, wrapping a quilt around himself, hugging a pillow and trying to imagine what it would feel like to have Ash’s arms around him, holding him safe in an embrace.


End file.
